Broken Hearts
by melloncollie00
Summary: Armed with a plethora of insecurities, we keep each other amused. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own One Tree Hill, only my laptop. And my cds. And my imagination.

**Prologue:** Armed with a plethora of insecurities, we keep each other amused

**Authors Note:** hmm…I watched the whole seasons 3 and 4 of One Tree Hill (like the 15th time), and I had to write this. Based on Motion City Soundtrack's _Make out Kids._

I tried something different, hope you guys like it. Please read and review.

**Make Out Kids**

_They carved the message deep within our broken hearts that failed to mend:   
Make out kids never had a chance to be best friends_.

On a particular cool night, he is making his usual trek to home, dim-lights of the cozy suburban town accompanying him in this isolation as no voice echoes from the dark streets and the avenue rests in peace with pure silence. People say it is not safe to go outside after 2 am in Tree Hill, but he is not afraid; walking home at night has become a routine of his; and this won't change anytime soon.

His footsteps, despite his slow and ponderous movements, now, become the only melodies to a sleeping town; and he wonders whether it is his steps' lullabies that put goodnight kisses on the closing eye-lids of Tree Hill, or there still remains a hidden factor that dawns the sun to a bright full-moon, that reveals the call of the wild in the bones.

Still, he knows for sure, the adrenaline running through the veins is not the consequence of a periodic-galactic movement of the moon for a particular girl he just left home sleeping naked under the sheeting; because she, he smiles brightly at the thought of it; is born to be a werewolf.

The constant tendency to everything that involves fun and danger, the hectic lifestyle that could easily be the main theme of a teenage-novel, an adventurous past that'll probably make up a more chaotic future; everything that synonyms with crazy is now in the definition of Brooke Davis.

And, he has no idea, what the hell they are doing.

_She's into math and magazines,  
Director's cuts and gray-cell green  
Armed with an eye for contradictions,  
She sees completely through me. _

"I won't be going to Theresa's party after the game." She assures him while taking his Algebra notes out of his disordered-locker. "And I hope you won't too." Leaning on the wall, she twists a bunch of her hair, this time, wavy, after the probable long-hours she spent beside the mirror.

"The guys will expect me there." He says, still unable to resist her charm. The smell of her perfume incenses in the air, making a lustful way through his nostrils, each breath putting a sensitive kiss down his spine.

Her disappointment is visible in her hazels. He wonders whether this is a fake version of revelation; or the real deal. Having heard a lot about her role-playing, he still is not sure of what to expect; Brooke's sincerity has always been a calming factor; but at the same time, acting out can also prevent them from getting heart-broken again.

"I'll find a way to sneak out." He mumbles, trying not to have eye contact with the girl, who somehow seems to be able to read every word of emotion typed in his eyes. He doesn't want to feel, and think whenever she is near; but every time, every bit of emotion created and surrounding the earth comes to haunt him.

"That's great." she smiles to reveal her dimples. "You may not believe this, but I'm starting to get tired of all these after-game-parties." Her raspy voice transports the little girl's inner cries hidden under a superficial mask; he realizes instantly, that, like him, Brooke is also hurt.

"Welcome to my world." He tries to cheer her up a little, ignoring all the melancholy ready to dominate their lives if they let it. "Even the game is not fun when you know what waits you at the end."

Brooke elbows him, clearly feeling more joyful than she was seconds ago. "If there's one thing I'm sure about, you'll never, ever give up on basketball."

She is surely wrong, he knows it.

Still, he doesn't say one word.

_I'm fond of twin peaks afternoons  
Inexpensive wine,  
with cordon bleu...  
Armed with a plethora of insecurities, we keep each other amused…_

"You drink too much" he says, after finding her in one of the isolated bedrooms in Theresa's mansion. His gaze sways towards to the inexpensive chandelier Theresa's parents deposited to an avoided house. It sounds funny, to him, how people try to cover up the dirt by glamorous package, and still fail. "It's bad for you."

She takes another sip from her tequila; lost in a reverie he is sure he isn't a part of. "You don't drink at all." she snaps, "its worse" Brooke lays down on the double-sized bed, her eyes locked on the chandelier he has been watching for minutes. The silence fills the air between them, as neither speaks a word.

The minutes stretch into what might as well be able to be years when laughter and screams with a background of disco-trance-music interrupts the tranquility; reminding them no matter how they feel, or how life makes them feel; they are in an after-game-party, a celebration of Tree Hill Ravens' victory over Bear Creek Warriors. Nathan Scott has been the usual most valuable player of the match, still he thinks he hasn't done badly either.

"Come here" he whispers, surprised by the fact of the loudness of his voice, despite the drums rocking up the house. Brooke crawls along the mattress, to the other end of the bed, where he is sitting up straight, bulging his eyes into hers without any hesitation.

As their hips touch, with the friction causing unavoidable electricity, he cannot help but wrap his arms around her, feeling her soft breath lingering on his skin, leaving a trademark of coolness in every inch it slides through. Kissing her temple, he cuddles her tightly, as if her breath can turn into one big tornado and tear them apart.

"I cheered for you in the game" she chortles, sprawling comfortably in his muscular arms.

"Yeah, I heard your voice among the entire crowd." He smiles at her, placing a hand on her chin, lifting her face high for eye contact. They look at each other for a second, and then, their lips meet.

_And then we sing...  
horray for the madness, we are better by design,   
let's hope we never have to say goodbye...  
Say goodbye._

"We should have gone to my place." She says, regretting, only her head visible with the puckered sheeting covering her entire body. She keeps tugging the quilt, but in each attempt, cannot help but reveal a certain body part.

"You don't have to hide yourself" he says, his hands locked at the back of his head; a forced-smile glued on his face. "I've seen this body before, Brooke." He cannot believe his attitude, the scamp-like words coming out of his mouth embarrasses him like a curse, yet, he knows that once some things are said, there is no turning back.

He learned it from the very best.

Brooke looks at him questioningly, clearly not expecting a response like that from a person that is famous for his maturity. Still, she knows, for a woman that doesn't know him as much, she mustn't expect anything, especially in a relationship like this.

"Fine" she snaps, immediately letting go of all the coverage hiding her nakedness. The immediate revelation of the skin he kissed only minutes ago still frightens him, the sight of her lying all naked on a stranger's bed, looking at him with daring eyes reminds him of the martyr of the maidens.

"Can you please not twist my words?" he sighs, veiling the quilt. "You know what I meant." It feels like they are a longtime married couple, stuck in a monotonous relationship but still can't let go of each other because of love…or maybe, habits.

"I have to go" she says, getting out of bed and dressing up quickly, proving her deep experiences about sexual involvements. He has no idea what brings them together. She is the school-slut, while he has always remained as a mystery. She is an attention seeker, and he does everything to avoid popularity. Yet, somehow, they are in the same room, again, after another make-out session. "You wanna come?"

He knows he has no other choice.

_Snowed in, sleep over winter break,  
Cocktails and miniature mistakes,   
Lights out; we're covered in each others' warm embrace..._

They walk in the deserted streets of Tree Hill, the hoarse music tarnishing as the number of the steps they take increase. He can sense the concrete coolness neither words or actions could break between them so he remains silent, waiting for her to make the first move, as always. Psychologists always tell relationships are mutual, yet when Brooke Davis is the issue, she is the only one owning an encounter.

"We don't have anything in common" she mumbles, trying to make eye contact after minutes spent gazing at anywhere but his eyes. Her voice, in the middle of the night, with a background vocal of the lullaby-like melodies of his sneakers and her high-heels, sounds like a eulogy for their broken hearts.

Still, he neither finds the courage nor the wants to say the opposite.

"Yeah I know" are the only words coming out of his mouth.

They continue walking, this time, the repose more unavoidable.

"I've never searched for completion in my relationships, but after…" her voice trembles, "things have changed."

He cannot say a word, figuring out what this talk will lead to. A sincere hug is visualized in front of his eyes; and consolations of "it's not you, it's me", "you deserve better" and "take care" echoes in his ears; nevertheless, her soft and raspy voice is still the only thing capturing the silence.

"It's funny how the things _actually_ kill you make you stronger."

Brooke leaves him standing in the avenue all alone; her high-heels drumming to a peculiar love-song he remembers from the old times.

_And then we sing...  
horray for the madness, we are better by design,   
let's hope we never have to say goodbye,  
Say goodbye._

_If we keep swimming, maybe this will never die. (Never die) _

He has no idea why he keeps standing in front of the red door that has been opened to nearly the half of Tree Hill's male population. There is this thing about Brooke that never ceases to surprise him; she always finds a way to manipulate people without knowing reason why. Everything they've done together is far beyond rational; and his brain is useless when it comes to answering all the questions dominating his life.

The doorbell rings, as if someone else had pressed the button rather than his tiny fingers; only to reveal a certain brunette that started to rock up his world all of a sudden.

"Hey" she says, a dim smile across her face, dimples greeting him with sincerity.

He doesn't "hey" back, replies with the same respond she gave. They have been ignoring each other for days, after she left him alone in the middle of the avenue; and his mobile phone doesn't transfer booty calls anymore, like her pager's isolation. The nights are colder now, because there are no footsteps to home singing a beautiful lullaby to peace the town to sleep, to mend their broken hearts.

Their broken hearts?

"I found it" he suddenly shrieks, clearly ruining the awkward yet peaceful mood the encounter provided. "I found it!"

"You found what?" Brooke asks, confused, by his sudden craze.

"You told me that we had nothing in common, that night, at the avenue" he mumbles, trying to find the perfect word combinations to describe his invention because each and every detail must be transported carefully to make her realize.

Brooke looks at him questioningly, wondering what will this lead to.

"But we have one thing in common." He says, pulling her closer, their eyes locked. "We both have broken hearts. That's what unites us. Broken hearts."

Teardrops start to leave her eyes and make journeys all over her face. This is not the first time Brooke cried in front of a man, still, it feels really embarrassing, yet soothing at the same time. They hug tightly, this time stronger than ever, as if pressing their bodies that hard could unite their broken hearts and create a fresh one.

"Don't leave me alone." She whispers between cries.

"I won't Brooke" he soothes her. He can hear the lullabies, now, more crestfallen and disappointed than ever.

_We fail to keep in touch these days,  
I'm liquid cold, she's murder grey,  
Hollowed by circumstance that pushed us both away._

"Don't you think that they're acting strange lately?" The green-eyed girl peeks over the door which is just closed by a couple she knows very well, at least she used to.

"Jake and Brooke?" The blond-haired guy turns to catch the view of the couple, who had already exited. The concern in the air is solid, yet he is aware of a certain feeling that remains denser than worry, disappointment. "Why?"

She plays with a curl of her hair, a habit of hers whenever something disruptive happens, "I don't know" she mumbles, trying to find the right words to describe the situation and not to ruin the mood of her new relationship. "Don't you think it's a little weird for two people who have absolutely nothing in common to spend such great amount of time like that?" Peyton blurts out instantly, the anger crystal clear.

"Well" Lucas rationalizes, "they have one thing in common."

Yet, he does not dare say what that is.

_They carved a message deep within our broken hearts that failed to mend:   
Make out kids never had a chance to be best friends_

**A/N: I know it's a little unusual, but I hated Lucas after season 4- how could he just forget all the things he did in season 3, and move on with Peyton? Brooke needs someone who deserves her**** and among the oth crew, Jake seemed to be the best.**

**Hope you'll review, it'll put a smile on my face; and courage of writing in my soul!**

**See ya!**


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